


This Must Be The Place

by BethNoir



Series: A Revised Legacy [3]
Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: 1990s, AIDS, Asexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, gay history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethNoir/pseuds/BethNoir
Summary: Bill comes round to see Jim after an article appears in the paper.





	This Must Be The Place

Bill found an attached house with a neat yard. He kept referring to the post-it in his hand to be absolutely sure he was at the right address. He wasn’t sure what he should have expected. He lingered longer than he meant to, for it drew the attention of the resident of the house. The door opened. A springer spaniel came bounding into the yard, and lunged up at the gate, eager to say hello.

An old man with a hunched back limped out of the house on a walker. His face was as lined as a dried orange, and what remained of his hair had stopped changing at grey. It clung in a whispy halo between his ears, but his mustache and eyebrows were very thick. His perplexed scowl turned to delight when he recognized the visitor at his gate.

“Jumbo!” he called. “Is that you?”

“Is it the specs, sir?” Bill asked.

“Thought they stopped making those during the last Labour government.” Jim ambled over and smiled warmly at him. “God, look at you, boy. How old are you now?”

“Thirty seven, sir.”

“Thirty seven. You’re old enough you don’t need to be calling me sir. It’s Jim now. Come in. Come in here.” Jim reached for the gate, but Roach opened it himself to spare him the trouble. The spaniel reared up on his legs to greet him. “Down! Ruddy dog. You’ve got all the bad habits of your papa and none of mine. Don’t mind him. Hopeless beast.”

“It’s a lovely home you have.”

“Well, you didn’t think I’d be in that caravan all my life, did you? With my back? Step lively, Jumbo. Where’ve you come from?”

“Lincoln.” Bill said, as he closed the gate.

“Lincoln. What the devil are you doing there?” Jim asked, squinting at him with perplexity.

“Gillian Merron’s talking of running for MP. Wanted to do my bit.”

“A Labour seat down there? That’ll be the day. What do your parents think of you disrupting the Tory hold on Britain?”

“They’re dead, sir.”

“Oh. Hm.” Bill had rather the same feeling, but said nothing as they went inside.

Bill remembered Prideaux as an enormous figure, even with his bad back, and found himself somewhat uncomfortable he’d grown to be a hair taller than the old French professor. The adults of your youth weren’t supposed to grow old or become feeble. Weren’t they always supposed to remain as strong and impervious as the gods?

“Be a good lad and put the kettle on,” Jim said, easing into a chair in the kitchen. “Arthritis has made me useless.”

As the water boiled, Bill shared what happened at Gordonstoun, how his surname made life a hell, but Jim told him it was a privilege he shared with the crown prince. It was a shame about Diana, but anyone could have told you that was going to be a disaster. She’ll keep busy with her charity work and that new fellow of hers. The kettle switched off.

“Tea will be in the cupboard by the sink. Second shelf.” As Bill took the tin down, a slender man with shocking white hair and a lined face walked in with the shopping, and looked disappointed.

“My God. I’m being replaced.” Bill realized he was missing a piece of the story as Prideaux started yelling at the man for causing a scene, which made the fellow burst into gales of laughter.

“You must be Bill. I’m Andrew.” The man invited himself to embrace Bill and kiss his cheek. “We’re so pleased to have you. Jim’s been all aflutter since he got your letter. Sit down. I’ll do the teas. I’ve got to put the shopping away.”

“You do the teas, and the water will go cold and the shopping will spoil because you’ll be talking his ear off about who you saw at the shops.”

“Aye and if I never went, you’d have starved to death ages ago.”

“Don’t mind Hyacinth Bucket here. She does go on.”

“Bouquet, dear. Hyacinth Bouquet,” Andrew drawled in that posh middle class climber voice. It must have been from a programme Bill had missed. Andrew kissed Jim hello, and that was definitely a detail Bill had missed. Jim gave him a look from under his eyebrows that seemed to dare him to make a comment, but Bill found he was rather pleased his old professor was alive and well.

Jim Prideaux was eighty-three, retired, and never married, but in a decades long partnership with Andrew Holliday, the brother of a colleague from Thursgood’s. Andrew was much younger than Jim, but still much older than Bill. He had a physical springiness that Jim had long lost, maybe only had before his injury, but the pair were still mentally agile. No children, but plenty of alumni visits with their own, and several dogs over the years.

“He finally learned to cut his hair. Only took him fifteen years.” Jim said, pointing to Andrew, as if Bill had known what he used to look like.

“Thank goodness for you or else I’d still be going around looking like a Rutle. Bill, do you take milk or sugar?”

“Just milk, please.”

“You got anyone of your own, Jumbo? Wife? Partner?”

“No, sir.”

“Hm. Thirty-seven’s still young. Plenty of time.” Jim took his tea with shaking hands and Bill said nothing further.

“So what is it that’s brought you all up here? Didn’t come all this way just to bring us The Mail, did you?” Andrew asked.

“Only The Mirror in this house,” Jim grumbled, gesturing at Andrew and the influence he held over the household. Bill suddenly realized how clammy his fingers felt holding the folded paper under his arm this whole time.

“Um, actually it’s…” Bill hesitated, then brought out The Sun, and regretted it almost immediately from the cold look that drew over Andrew’s face. Jim reached for the papers with his arthritic hands, and barely squinted at the pictures before dropping it suddenly. Andrew stood up, but Jim waved at him.

“All right. I’m fine,” Jim fussed. Andrew was reluctant to take the order, but he returned to leaning on the counter.

On the cover of The Sun in ghastly bold letters was the headline, ‘BI SPY SWUNG BOTH WAYS’ before peeling into the gossip.

‘Declassified papers have revealed the British government was in an elaborate conspiracy to conceal that one of their own, a William Haydon, was not only a spy for Britain, but a double agent for the Soviet Union. The conspiracy entitled ‘Tinker Tailor’ was…’ and it went on in a tirade that would have been libelous if it wasn’t all true.

“I saw your name in the article, towards the end…” Jim explained, and felt rather like when he’d lied to his mum about a catastrophic ink stain on her favorite Chanel suit. No matter how much he’d tried to explain himself, nothing could shake his mother’s dead eye stare of disappointment. Age made him realize she was also probably on one of her cocktails of pills and drink, but she never looked right at him as he was explaining, and the quiet always made him tremble.

Jim did not read what was written, but stared at the photograph of the handsome man in black and white beneath the scarlet banner of The Sun. He was rattled at the sight of the picture. It seemed like the sort of thing one would rehearse to be collected about, but the image always sends a shock through you that’s never pleasant and always repellant. Jim covered his mouth to collect himself and patted his cheek.

“There’s that face…” he murmured, and then, he smiled. He almost sounded young in saying it. Bill felt rather guilty for bringing that reaction out of him. Of course Prideaux would have been pleased to see him just to say hello. Why did he need this as an excuse?

“I’m sorry if-“

“Don’t need to explain yourself, boy. Plenty of reason.” Jim started to snap in that familiar brusque voice.

“Love…” Andrew murmured. A gentle chiding, and Jim calmed. He was in good company and wound out of his old temper.

“I knew of his sympathies in university,” Jim said. “Never realized how far it ran until it was all over. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have thirty years of your life ripped out. Like pages from a book.”

“And Peter Guillam-“

“Useless man. Looked me up once when I was still laid up in that caravan, trying to drown in a bottle. Didn’t have much to say for himself. Said he thought we could be mates.”

“Showed himself out rather sharpish once he realized there wasn’t anything in our pockets left to pick for his career.” Andrew invited himself to join the conversation, and to sit with them at the table. Bill felt rather like he was being flanked, but that was probably the point.

“Social climber?” Bill asked Andrew, who seemed more willing to divulge.

“Oh, could say that. I think he fancied himself the successor to Bill’s reputation. What I gather is he was more of a walking harassment case if they had the laws then. Never met the man myself, but sound about right?” He sipped his tea as he glanced at Jim, who grunted in agreement. “I respect my dear’s privacy, but I gleaned the details here and there.”

“Connie Sachs?” asked Jim.

“Shan’t betray my sources. Part of being related to the service and all.” Andrew smiled over his tea cup. A hand on Jim’s brought the smile back out and he nudged the paper back towards Bill. The spaniel sneezed in the other room.

Plenty of Guillam’s partners had come to Prideaux to complain about his technique and how he couldn’t compare to Bill. Those who did come to confession knew to be as discrete about Prideaux’s preferences the way he would about their stories of Guillam, but he couldn’t share how he could relate. He would share it with Bill who would laugh endlessly about Guillam’s lousy efforts as a Don Juan. It reminded him of a classmate at Oxford who fancied himself the next Turner when he could barely mix his paints, eventually abandoning his pursuits for outboard motors.

“Bloody reporters rang the phone off the line,” said Jim. “Would have unplugged it if we didn’t need to hear from the doctors. Kept it in the bread bin. Still turned up round the house, in the yard. Going to print finally got them off the case. What does it say about me there?”

“It said, in the paper - “, Bill stammered, “you’re mentioned, you were known to be a violent individual.” Bill did not expect Prideaux to become so very still. Even Andrew looked concerned for his reaction.

“What have they said?” Jim asked, sounding very far away.

“It was mentioned you were charged with assaulting an officer, and disturbing the peace?” Bill was apprehensive about broaching this subject, but he didn’t expect Andrew to start screaming with laughter and Jim to look embarrassed, but amused.

“You’re going to do yourself another coronary. It’s not that funny,” Jim said.

“Yes it is. Oh my goodness, I can’t believe they’d mention that.” Andrew gasped and clutched his chest.

“Thought they’d reference something else,” Jim said.

“Go on, love. Tell him what happened.” Andrew goaded.

“Some years back, this one,” Jim gestured to Andrew, “persuaded me to go with him to the parade on the High Street-“

“Say which parade, the ones with the rainbows and such.“

“May I finish?”

“Go on.“

On account of not being able to stand for very long, they holed up at the pub and watched the display. They recognized some graduated students who were pleased to see them, and joined them for some drinks, until the police showed up to watch with them. The youths did not want the coppers present on account of them killing Marsha, who Jim and Andrew were not aware of, and for the riots in New York. Jim didn’t like how they were pushing around the smaller ones, so he started barking at them to leave them be. When the officer threatened him with arrest, Jim had swung his cane in his face and bashed in his nose. Jim turned to Andrew.

“Now, tell him why you were arrested, love.” Jim said, and Andrew smiled bashfully.

“I had accepted one, perhaps two, capsules, from our young friends, and was feeling very well, and thought it was a very good idea, when I saw my dearest getting harassed by the police, to intervene.”

“And what did you say to this officer?” Jim asked. Andrew somehow kept a straight face.

“My husband was in the secret services and he knows how to kill you.”

Bill was struck by the intimacy of the two. Andrew was giggling to no end and clapping Jim’s shoulder and they told him of how when students recognize Jim they now sing, “Hey! Teacher! Leave them pigs alone!”

“That was when I could still use my arms for bashing in faces,” said Jim.

“Only reason he keeps me around is to reach the high shelves for the shopping,” said Andrew as he got up to wash out the cups. “Unless we use the chair.”

“I hate that thing. I can walk just fine.

“You walk about 1 km/h. By the time you’re at the end of the block, I’ve gone and come back with the shopping. That’s your whole scheme, isn’t it?”

“Arse. I’ve been found out.”

“Selfish git.”

“Oh, have another pirin tablet, love.”

“A what?” Bill asked. Andrew screeched.

“Have you seen _The Birdcage_? It’s still in cinemas. You must see it.” He put on a voice that should have sounded like a Puerto Rican yenta. “Is an Aspirin with the A and the S scraped off.”

“An actor, this one.” Jim smirked. “Lovely boys, they were. About eight at the pub then, only three still here.”

“And you two are all right?” Bill asked, having noticed the pill bottles on the counter.

“Just old, that’s all,” said Jim. “HAART treatment’s going to save so many lives. Bloody infuriating they took so long with it.”

“We were lucky,” said Andrew.

“Aye, we were. Perks of monogamy, but still very lucky. Knew many. Buried enough.” Andrew murmured in agreement.

“Students?” Bill asked.

“More than a few. Some in your year.”

“Sometimes we were the only attendee at their funerals while their parents would host a private memorial or a charity event for cancer, or something more respectable with the upper classes,” said Andrew. His northern accent was coming out the more heated he got. “Bloody disgraceful how they go on. They throw all this money at an education and when they’ve got no portfolio piece to show off to relatives they don’t even like, they do that to save face with the living with no thought for the dead.”

“Bloody awful,” said Jim.

“Meanwhile their poor children were abandoned at public school in hopes of being groomed for good breeding when all they wanted was some intimacy. Loneliness is such a hideous thing. Eats you alive to be alone. All they wanted was someone to love them, and just their luck they got sick for it. Know how many we buried? Because I lost count at ninety-three.” Andrew sat back in his chair, still simmering, until Jim put his hand on his. “I’m all right, you know how I get,” Andrew quietly fussed to him.

“Is that why you looked after me, sir? Like looking after like.” Bill asked. Jim mulled over this.

“Crossed my mind, but when you’re young, you’re the only person who knows your own mind. And watchers don’t share that easily with other grown-ups. Was I right?”

“Well…”

“Ah. Not quite alike, then.”

“I suppose, it’s just…” Bill shrugged. “Nothing’s ever really caught my fancy.”

“No-one? Boy? Girl?”

“Nowt.” Roach delighted he could finally use that with someone who’d understand it. “Just never took.”

“Could just be you haven’t found the right person,” said Andrew. “I’ve got a lovely-“

“Leave it,” said Jim.

“Oh, but she’s-“ Andrew protested.

“Love,” Jim said firmly. Andrew desisted.

“Well, all right…”

“Another reason I asked about Peter Guillam,” Bill said.

“Has he been making inquiries?” Jim asked. “Regarding your post-university career?”

Bill nodded shyly, feeling very much like a schoolboy again sat before his master.

“What do you make of it?” Jim asked.

“Much like what’s been said. Fancies himself a good time Charlie, but seems more the type to have harassment suits than paternity suits.”

“Right on, but I meant the work.”

Bill flushed at the thought. Everything Andrew had railed about how absent parents breeding good children had resonated with him, and with the death of both parents and a first in university, still found himself rather directionless. He wouldn’t know where to begin if he wanted to abandon all normal life and spend it in Brighton like the newspapers said all young-ish people did.

“Something of a calling, really…” Bill admitted.

“Before you go off and do something as silly as I did, there’s someone you should talk to.” Jim turned to Andrew. “Love, can you fetch my diary? I’ll have his number in there.”

“When the end comes, it’ll be cockroaches, Keith Richards, and him,” said Andrew as he left for Jim’s study.

“If the service has any hope of still being some use, it’ll be up to them. He’s on to greater schemes now. He could use a watcher like you.”

“You sure it’s all right?” Bill asked.

“What are they going to do? Come after me? Wish I had deeper loyalties to Queen and Country, but that’s all withered up now. Didn’t care for my continued sacrifice so I’ve got what’s left of my life to enjoy.”

Bill promised to come round more often and Jim insisted upon it. He remembered the strange vibrant professor who taught French and sport, who hid a gun in his caravan, would be very quiet and then suddenly barking jokes without expecting anyone to laugh, and then one day, returned to form like someone had shattered everything behind his eyes. Something broke that he never thought would be mended. Only sign of life was when his parents bore down to take him off to Gordonstouns and Jim was the only adult in his life who’d spoke up for him. Such a kindness and reverence you have as a child for the one adult who pays you mind. And here he was with his life put back together.

Bill went outside. He did not expect Andrew to follow him and light a cigarette.

“Only secret I keep from him since his smell has gone, but I’m sure he knows about it too,” Andrew said. He sized up Roach before speaking, which was something adults perfected in his youth and he never felt he’d figured out.

“Listen here.” Andrew said. “You’re not to go making this your only appearance in this house. You’re family. The closest he’ll ever have to a son, and the most you’ve ever had for a father, from what he tells me. I don’t want this to be the only time we see you. He’s been through too much and there’s enough nonsense people have to go through by themselves that they shouldn’t have to.”

“My father once told me we have but one quantum of compassion-“ Bill started, and Andrew waved his free hand to dismiss the rest of the sentence.

“Total nonsense. That’s the stuff they espouse at public school to make you good obedient workers. It’s all very American. And at the very least, Bill Roach, you deserve people who care about you.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Bill asked.

“He has shared as much as he is willing to, and that’s almost every detail. Except for how he knows how the man died. That’s never been public and I have checked. Not even Connie knows, but I doubt she cares to. It’s the one thing he will take to his grave, and he deserves his privacy on that.”

“Has he ever hurt you?” Bill asked. Andrew shook his head fiercely, but stopped when he remembered something.

“He did forget my birthday first year we were together. Didn’t know that mattered to me. Never ever forgets it now. But how you’re suggesting, no. That has never happened.”

“Does he still yell about cars?”

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “About them and at them and often. You remember that old Alvis of his?”

To Bill’s surprise, he’d forgotten about it and suddenly remembered the old thing.

“It’d been giving us a hard time but it was the only one we had after mine fell to pieces. We’re on our way back from my sister’s funeral and it’s just been a hellish few months. Don’t ever do this, by the way.” Andrew held up his cigarette. ”So I’ve barely had my head on straight and haven’t cried once. I’ve got to deal with the family from Bradford and Exeter and Carlisle and I remain a family disgrace for not settling down with a nice girl from town and giving them grandchildren, even though they have sixteen of those. I’ve been taking care of Deirdre and the only laugh I’d had was when she told me “just put me in a shoebox and fling me off a bridge so they’ll fuck off already.” We had a much nicer do for her. She’s the whole reason I met Jim and she deserved something wonderful.”

“Well, we’re on our way back from the burial and the car just stops. Does not turn over. I’m catatonic in the front seat, Jim’s swearing at the thing and trying to turn the engine. All of a sudden, he screams at it, “right, that’s it, I’ve had it, I’m going to give you a damn good thrashing!” He shoves himself out of the car, finds this tree branch of all things and just starts beating it! I think he’s lost his mind. He can barely get the branch over his shoulder on account of his injury, but I can’t even get out of my seat. It must have done something because turns out I was staring at him. He returned, tried once more to turn the car on, got me out, and he flagged down someone to help push the Alvis to the side and call for a breakdown lorry. A week later, I’m still dead to the world but otherwise feeding, dressing, bathing myself and one evening I’m sat watching telly and whatever’s on is fine. And then comes a repeat of _Fawlty Towers._ Have you seen the Gourmet Night episode?”

“I know of it. Don’t watch much telly.”

“Well, general premise. Awful hotel owner. Shrewy wife. Chaos ensues. I love it. And in this episode, his car has broke down, and he does exactly what Jim had just done the week before. And for the first time in months, I am laughing so hard I start to cry, and it is the first time since Deirdre’s health went south, that I have a good and proper cry. And that’s when he came in the room and looked at me like _I’d_ lost my mind.”

Andrew stubbed out the cigarette since it went out, and shouldn’t have been smoking it anyway. He looked overwhelmed.

“Jim rarely watches telly. He likes _Keeping Up Appearances_ , but falls asleep when I’m watching because he’d rather just keep me company. He has been through, unimaginable grief that no-one should experience. Let’s talk about service to your country, fighting in a world war, being whipped around the world in secret services, then being shot and tortured and traded and your career and life’s purpose grabbed away from you, and on top of all that, it’s because your on and off lover of thirty some odd years is behind it all with the top of the Russian spy circuit. He could have wound up drinking himself to death in that caravan or doing himself in with that gun, thank god we got rid of that thing, but instead, he remembered a little bit of telly that I forgot had made me laugh, and his priority was to try and cheer me up. I am nobody. I’m a barman and an artist of no real standing. My time here has not been significant in the way he has made his mark, but what was most important to him, to this unbelievable person, was trying something to not make me feel so sad anymore. He deserves so much more than what he’s had.”

“You seem just what he needs.” Bill said. Andrew smiled.

“Two of us know something about hard times. Old poof from Bradford and a young Roach from public school. And here we all are. Still standing. Or slouching like that old git.”

“You’re not like my parents, are you? Squabbling as a form of communication?” Bill asked. Andrew was surprised he asked, but smiled at him so kindly.

“I thought my life was over the day I met him. Been through an awful bit of bad luck that week, but as soon as I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t remember what I’d been so upset about. Greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

“True love saves the day?” asked Bill.

“Oh no. It’s been work. You don’t go through all that and then ‘woop!’ you’re fine. There’s the nightmares and the flashbacks but we work on it. And he’s out of that caravan. It’s been wonderful. I’m very lucky,” Andrew sniffed and blotted tears away. “God, listen to me going on. Come here.”

He waved Bill over and pulled him into a hug.

“You are always welcome here. We’re very, hugely proud of you and I’m so pleased I could finally meet you.” Andrew held his face to look at him. “Your family’s always here for you. I don’t expect you to come round for every Sunday roast and tea, but please remember I am shacked up with a very important English spy and if you do not come by for Christmas, I can have you tracked down to make sure you’re somewhere safe and warm and loved. All right?” Andrew hugged him again and Bill felt his jealousy for other families who had this, start to melt away. Like a knot that causes pain in a bad back.

“Thank you for looking out for him.” Bill said. Andrew’s hand clenched on his back and he sniffed hard. He stepped back and busied himself picking dog hair off Bill’s shirt.

“You will call us when you get there, all right? Must know you’ve arrived safely. And give him our best.” Andrew returned to the house, humming a Talking Heads song to himself.

Bill departed and called the number from a telephone box several tube stations away. He received instructions and on following them accordingly, was pleased to find he wouldn’t mind a trip to Berlin.

Bill arrived at the Humboldt University Library on a Wednesday afternoon and found himself fascinated by the design of the shelves, when he was approached by a man in a red jumper and grey trousers. He had the build of a British Bulldog; jowls, grey hair, the sort of man that was disappearing due to fitness regiments, tanning booths, and porcelain teeth veneers. Many of all appearances had the same moral flexibility about serving themselves first and the rest can hang, but there were the rare ones who had a sense of duty as citizens of Britain, and the world. As well as the similar sense of morals, Bill found they had rather the same spectacles.

“Bill Roach?” Bill stood and shook the man’s hand. “My name is George Smiley. I’m told we have a friend in common.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your patience with the end of this story. I got caught up in writing for real life stuff, and realized I'd started this story almost a year ago.
> 
> Story takes place around 1996/1997, my history may be a bit off. I did my best as an American to figure out what was going on in Britain. Diana is still alive, The Birdcage is one of the first English language films to portray a gay couple in lead roles and a positive light, and Britain is heading into a Labour government for the first time since the 1970s. I don't know if Marsha P Johnson is a figure in queer UK culture, but she's important nonetheless. (March 2019 - Changed the title because fanfic matters, yknow?)
> 
> This short series was inspired by my devouring A Legacy of Spies and being absolutely furious with how Jim Prideaux's story was resolved and the portrayal of Peter Guillam. The beginning is brilliant and there are some terrific ideas in there, but I thought it got rather muddled. Le Carre is one of my favorite writers, but he rarely writes women very well and in making it canon that Jim and Bill were lovers, I just wish Jim had a happier ending.
> 
> I stole Smiley's line about "a quantum of compassion" and redistributed it to the British public school system. Smiley's change of tone in A Legacy is one of the few things I liked. I would have liked to see Bill Roach take Guillam's place in the book, and decided he might be asexual.
> 
> I feel weird writing about what I feel are cliches in gay themes, but I grew up when AIDS was just starting to get reined in and you heard about it constantly. There's a lot of history we used to talk about all the time that's getting lost. It's very likely I'm underestimating how many deaths they might have known, but I wanted to talk about it in here. Practice safe sex and get tested, people!


End file.
